The Night Chicago Died
by Grazia D
Summary: A brewing mob war and allegations of shady cops takes its toll on the 27th and the cops within.
1. Chapter 1

He glanced down at his watch. Just about half-past one in the morning. He used the back of his hand to stifle a yawn just as a new round of laughter rose within the bar. Closing time would be in another half hour, but the people inside wouldn't start rolling out until well after the sun began to rise. It was their bar after all. No one would be ushering anyone out.

The laughter rose again almost as soon as it had begun to peter out. He couldn't see what exactly what the laughter was all about; most of the laughter was centered on a small group of people located near the back of the bar. Most of Frank Zuko's boys. He didn't really care much for Frank Zuko's boys. Not that it mattered much to anyone who he did and didn't care for.

He finished the last of his drink and tossed a twenty next to his empty glass-not for the drink since drinks were always free for Danny McDohll's boys (and he supposed Frank Zuko's boys now, too)-but for the bartender. The man had hit his prime thirty years ago and could barely see through the cataracts anymore but he could still put together a pretty mean whisky sour. Maybe because there wasn't much to put together.

He stood and headed toward the door, giving the crowd near the back one last look before grabbing his jacket he had hung on one of the dozen hooks Kelly the bartender had installed decades ago. He caught a nod from Kelly as the twenty was pocketed, which was returned before he slipped out into the cold. It was too early for any of the crew to be ducking out of the bar, but he really wasn't part of the crew anymore so what did it matter? No one was really going to miss him unless they needed some stolen cars disappeared or a ride for themselves for whatever reason. And no one was going to need that tonight. Tonight was all about Frank Zuko and his boys, welcome to the family, have a few drinks on us. Biggest mistake ever, in his opinion, not that it mattered.

He slid behind the wheel of his most prized possession, a work in progress 1972 Chevy Camaro. More important than anything in his life, which was one reason he would be returning to an empty apartment tonight and every night for the past six months, and it would have been finished by now if the boys hadn't been hounding him with requests for the past year or so, another reason he would be returning to an empty apartment. There was a third reason Jenna had screamed at him as she was storming down the hallway, one suitcase bouncing off a thigh as she walked, the other following behind on wheel, occasionally tipping to one side which caused her to become even more agitated and even louder and forcing even more neighbors to curiously poke a head out to see what was going on. But what that third reason was, he couldn't remember. Mainly because he had already slammed the door to their apartment shut and had begun to work on the bottle of vodka that had been waiting patiently in the freezer for his return.

The Camaro started on the third crank of the key, which was normal for his little work in progress, and the heater thankfully decided to work today. It was supposed to be just above zero tonight, but the wind had kicked in unexpectedly from the Lake and it felt at least twenty degrees colder. Hell, with weather like this he should be thankful his little work in progress had decided to start at all. He figured he wouldn't be so lucky in the morning, or rather in four hours when he had to be up for work.

He headed south on Halsted before taking a right on 31st. His apartment wasn't too far away, chosen for that very reason. He only traveled a couple of blocks before turning left on South Morgan and following that until he hit 38th. His building was right there on the left. It took him almost as long to find a free parking spot as it did to get him home, but he finally found one on 38th Place, right beneath a 'No Parking Between The Hours Of 6AM And 10PM' sign, one of many in the neighborhood. I wouldn't be a problem, as long as he beat the tow truck. He would have to remember to set the alarm for 5:15 instead of 5:30.

His apartment was dark and nearly as cold as it was outside. He made his way to his bedroom without turning on the lights, or the heat, and switched on the portable heater next to his bed. Leaving the apartment heat off had saved him a lot of money over the past six months, even though he wasn't exactly hurting for cash. But old habits died hard and messy and he remembered those days he was strapped for cash and had to make a choice between food, alcohol or the rent. Usually, alcohol won that battle. Any battle when it really came down to it. Maybe that was the third reason Jenna had been screaming about six months ago. Did it really matter? Not really.

He collapsed into bed without taking anything but his shoes off, and buried himself beneath the heavy blankets without remembering to make the corrections to his alarm clock, or even remember to turn it on.


	2. Chapter 2

Ray Vecchio stepped out of the Buick and took a glance at his watch as he slammed the car door shut behind him. It was nearly five in the morning, an hour after the call woke him. Sleep didn't find him until long after he went to bed so he wasn't able to muster enough energy to answer the phone until the fifth ring. He was surprised by the call from patrol requesting assistance at Kelly's Bar off Halstead. Gardino and Huey were the duty detectives for the weekend. It wasn't supposed to be his turn until next Saturday.

Jack Huey glanced up only briefly to register the fellow detective, followed by the Mountie dressed in civilian clothes, but adorned with the familiar Stetson, ducking beneath the yellow tape, stamped with "Crime Scene. Do Not Enter", stretched along the south side of Kelly's Bar, out to a marked unit parked nearly on the other side of the street and back to the north side of the bar, where it disappeared around the back of the building. Prying eyes pressed against the barrier, every once in a while garnering a "Off the tape!" from the gruff sergeant guarding the crime scene, recording everyone who entered and exited faithfully in his notebook.

"The two out here are Joseph Ricci, 39 and Michael Flaherty, 52." Huey said without glancing up from the tarpaulin covered bodies lying on the sidewalk that had collected most of the attention. "There's two more inside. And watch your step. Lots of casings around inside." Ray barely heard him.

The lights inside Kelly's were still fully lit, but it didn't make the century old building any less dreary. The coppery tone of blood mixed with the sour smell of ancient alcohol struck Ray even before passing the threshold of the front door. Two more bodies lay near the back of the room, uncovered. No need to protect sensibilities in here; the only people with access were those that had a need to be there.

Shell casings did indeed litter the floor, a mix of what looked to be 9 millimeter, 40 caliber and maybe even a 22. Ray crossed the bar gingerly, careful and aware of every step, noting the crime scene guys had only just started labeling the spent rounds. He eyed the Mountie as he shadowed the wall, following it until it connected with the aged bar. The Mountie peered over the side, raised an eyebrow, and followed the length of the bar until it ended halfway across the room.

"Looks like the two out front were the first." Louis Gardino eyed Ray warily as he approached; tensions had always been tight between those two and Gardino made it quite clear every chance he got he didn't appreciate the detective's presence. Not that Ray himself wasn't above the childish glares and brief, heated blow ups. The only difference was, he was absolutely right and Gardino was wrong. At least, that's how he saw things. "It must have been pretty loud in here for these guys," he motioned to the bodies at his feet, "not to hear anything."

"I'm guessing nobody's talking?" Ray asked, bending at the knees to take a closer look at the 40-ish year old man lying at his feet. Recognizing him wasn't surprising. Finding the Italian in an Irish bar that had beenquietly owned by Chicago's strongest Irish mob for three decades was.

"In fact, the bartender helped us out a bit before the ambulance took him UCMC." Gardino said, pausing the quick sketch he had been copying into his notebook and turned back a couple pages before finding the information he needed in his notes. "He mentioned the name 'Connor Sullivan'. Ring a bell?" Gardino asked when he noticed the look of recognition flicker across Ray's face.

"Are you sure?" Ray asked, grabbing the notebook from Gardino's hands with such force the page ripped slightly at the edge.

"Of course I'm sure. He said "Find Connor Sullivan". It's right there." Gardino pointed to the name, scratched out in sloppy handwriting before taking the notebook back.

"You're telling me one guy might have done all this?"

"I don't know. Why don't you find Connor Sullivan and ask him." Gardino sneered and flipped back to his sketch. "Shouldn't be too hard to find a Sullivan in an Irish neighborhood." He added sarcastically before returning to his job. Ray scowled, ready to give it right back to Gardino when it suddenly clicked.

"Fraser!" Ray called out, motioning to the Mountie to follow him as he retraced his steps back out of the bar.

"Where're you going?" Gardino asked, his face twisted in the same scowl Ray wore on his face a few minutes before.

"I'm going to find Connor Sullivan."

* * *

"Are you sure this is the same Connor Sullivan?" Fraser asked as his partner rounded the front of the Buick. Ribbons of pink had begun to weave their way into the night sky over the Dan Ryan Expressway. Another morning was about to break in Chicago.

"Benny, I know there's thousands of Connor Sullivans in this city, hell, probably dozens in this part of town alone, but I know for a fact there is only one Connor Sullivan who frequents Kelly's Bar enough for the bartender to know him by name." _And that's not the only reason_, he thought but decided not to share.

"How do you know this Connor Sullivan?" The question annoyed Ray and he made sure the Mountie knew it.

"What is this? Twenty Questions? I just know, alright?" Fraser stared at him, visibly taken aback.

"Alright." He finally said as he followed the detective through the unlocked door of the apartment complex. Evidence suggested long ago there had been a lock just above the handle, possibly a pretty decent one, too, but had long since disappeared.

The complex had no elevator and the apartment he was looking for was eight flights up. Of course it was, Ray thought bitterly. Nothing was ever simple or easy when it came to this family.

The stairwell was well lit, much to Ray's surprise, and it smelled relatively clean. In fact, it still had that biting scent that accompanied disinfectant. Someone made an effort around here and at the moment, Ray appreciated that.

"You ever hear of Liam Sullivan?" Ray inquired, suddenly wanting to break the quiet.

"Should I?"

"No, probably not. Liam Sullivan used to be second in command in the McDohll Family that operated out of the South Side. They found him in the trunk of a car in Lincoln Park about ten years ago. No one knows who did it, but word on the street is it was someone from Frank Zuko's crew."

"Why?" Fraser asked. Ray noticed as they approached the fifth floor, the Mountie still didn't sound winded.

"Who knows? Maybe they were bored that day. Anyway, Connor is Liam's youngest boy. The apple doesn't fall too far from the tree." Fraser remained silent. When they reached the eighth floor, Ray could have cried out in joy. He was out of breath and sweat had begun to trickle down his back despite the near freezing temperature in the hallway. The place might have been clean, but security and heat seemed to be lacking. Behind him, the Mountie seemed maddeningly unexhausted.

Connor's apartment was the third door on the right. Ray paused outside of it, thought about knocking and decided against it. Instead he reached into his pocket and retrieved his lock picking kit, a tool he hadn't really needed since his transfer into the Violent Crimes Unit. He expected a look of disapproval from Fraser, got it, and turned his focus on the lock in front of him. He bent down, rested the kit on his knee and took a look at the small gap between the door and the frame. He was surprised to find the deadbolt had not been turned. He reached out cautiously and twisted the knob; the door opened easily with a soft click.

Ray straightened and tucked the kit back into the inner pocket of his coat. This time he thought about drawing his weapon and again decided it wasn't needed. He had known Connor Sullivan his entire life; the two used to play basketball together on the playground after school and in the Sullivan driveway on weekends. And it wasn't exactly unheard of for Connor to leave his door unlocked. The man had always been just a bit forgetful; that might have played a factor in his recent divorce.

The apartment was dark and only a few degrees warmer than the hallway outside. It smelled of lemons and onions. Beneath them, carpeting softened their footfalls. Behind them, the door closed with a near inaudible click.

Ray led the way through the living room, making the sharp right down the hall toward Connor's room. A sudden chill raced up his spine. Something wasn't right, his body screamed. The air felt different, energized by the presence of someone else and Ray was almost certain it wasn't Connor. He would never be able to explain how he knew it wasn't Connor; it just wasn't. Ray pulled his gun, the sound deafening in the quiet apartment. He approached the room at the end of the hall with more caution, the barrel of his weapon leading the way.

The door was open only a crack. Ray listened. He swore he could hear breathing.

He rushed through the door, his gun raised, his finger sliding to the trigger when his eyes focused on the outline of a person. He could see the barrel of a weapon pointing back at him and his finger stiffened. He was ready to fire when his vision cleared. He first recognized the shape of the figure holding the gun. His mind then identified the face. She looked just as surprised as he and was the first to lower her weapon.

"Ray?" she asked.

"Deidre." he muttered.

"What-why-I almost shot you, you idiot." She hissed, holstering her gun.

"Well it's nice to see you, too." Ray shot back, his voice sharp with sarcasm.

"What are you doing here?"

"I should ask you the same thing." Deirdre finally took notice of the figure behind Ray.

"Who's he?"

"This is Benny, he's a Mountie. What are you doing here?" Ray asked, not wanting to allow her to change the subject.

"A Mountie. Like Canadian?"

"Do you know any other kind?" Ray was rewarded with a cold stare.

"Why is he in Chicago?" Behind him, Fraser cleared his throat.

"Well, you see, I first came to Chi-"

"Not now, Benny." Ray hissed over his shoulder. He turned back to the woman in front of him. "I'm looking for Connor." With that statement, Deirdre appeared to relax.

"Oh, well he's obviously not here."

"I can see that. Where is he?" Deirdre shrugged.

"I don't know."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"Looking for Connor." Ray's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Why?" Deirdre slowly looked over her brother's room before meeting Ray's gaze again.

"I haven't heard from him in a couple days. Then I hear about some things going down at Kelly's. I got worried."

"How'd you hear about Kelly's?"

"I worked overtime last night. The call for a detective came over just as I was leaving. I wanted to make sure Connor was okay."

"Do you have reason to believe he's not?" Fraser asked. Even in the dark, Ray could see the fire rise in Deirdre's eyes. He knew that look. She was about to become hostile. Very hostile. Again, sometimes apples didn't fall far from the tree.

"What the hell do you care?" she snapped.

"Okay, look," Ray interjected, "you're looking for Connor, we're looking for Connor, so let's figure out where Connor could be."

"Why are you looking for Connor?" Ray was about to answer honestly; her brother was the number one suspect in the homicide of four men and maybe even a fifth before the morning was through. She wouldn't stand to hear that, he knew. In her eyes, her brother was infallible. She would only grow even more hostile and they would get nowhere. He would have to track down Connor Sullivan the old fashioned way and that seemed like way too much work for five A.M.

"We think he might have been there—at Kelly's. Four men are dead and another was taken to the hospital. We just want to make sure he's okay." Deirdre stared back silently. She wasn't buying it.

"Yeah, well, good luck with that." Deirdre ran a hand through her hair before making an attempt to leave the bedroom. Ray reached out and grabbed her arm. He felt her tense immediately.

"Dee Dee, I don't want to have to do this the hard way, and we both know I'm going to have to talk to you anyway, so let's just get it over with." Deirdre stared straight ahead, her jaw set, her chin held high.

"And we both know you don't have to talk to me."

"No, I suppose not. But no one knows Connor like you do. And I really don't want to have to talk to your mom about this." Deirdre sighed and shook her head.

"This-" she shook her head again. "Fine. But I'm not going to the 2-7. I just got done pulling a double and I'm hungry. Meet me at Morgan Foods off 71st. We can talk there."


	3. Chapter 3

Ray beat Deirdre to Morgan Foods, a small one story convenience store that at first glance looked closed. The door, covered in security mesh, was closed tight against the cold and only the faintest of light glowed from the windows. He watched as a jogger, dressed in less than Ray sought fit for the early winter morning, slowed to a walk and entered the store.

Ray pushed back the sleeve of his overcoat. A quarter past six. It was going to be a long day.

He turned his head to look at Fraser. The Mountie hadn't said a word since leaving the apartment and here he sat, the expression on his face broadcasting the fact he wanted to say something but not sure if that was the smartest thing at the moment. Ray was on the verge of telling him to speak his piece when a familiar car pulled up behind him. The Impala's headlights extinguished and in the glow of the street lamp he watched the driver's side door open. He followed suit and stepped out onto the sidewalk, a gust of wind, chilled by Lake Michigan, cut through him. He pulled his coat tighter around his body as he watched Deirdre do the same.

In the unforgiving light, she looked tired. Wind grabbed a hold of her hair, shorter and darker than the last time he had seen her, and tossed it around her head. Her chin and mouth were covered by a heavy knitted scarf. The overcoat she wore hung down to her knees and a pair of jeans poked out beneath. She gave Fraser a wary look as she hustled past, eager to get out of the cold. Ray and Fraser followed as she led the way into the store, letting out a content "aah" as a blast of hot air hit her face. She unwrapped the scarf and allowed it to hang loosely from her neck. She unbuttoned the top two buttons of her coat and freed her fingers from the gloves she wore. She continued to lead the way to the back of the store where hot breakfast foods were set up, left to slowly decompose beneath the glaring heat lamps. Once the smell of bacon and eggs his Ray's nostrils, his stomach growled. It wasn't the best food, but it was food he had grown to love.

"Hey!" The trio turned in unison at the sound of a man's voice calling to them from the front of the store.

"What?" Deirdre shot back.

"That brother of yours—do you know what he did?" the man that had once been encased in a box of bullet proof glass at the front counter, stepped out through a narrow door so he could hear and be heard better.

"I'm betting he didn't bring you flowers."

"Two days ago," the man, dark skinned and with a heavy accent neither ray nor Fraser could immediately place held up two fingers as if for emphasis, "he comes in here and takes off with a bottle of Coke and a pack of smokes." He continued, his arms waving wildly first toward the freezer then toward his counter. "He told me to 'put it on my tab'. This isn't a bar. He doesn't get a tab."

Ray turned to look at Deirdre, who was visibly uncomfortable. She caught his gaze for a moment before looking back at the angry man up front.

"This isn't a charity. I know Connor might be going through a rough time but I got mouths to feed." Deirdre pushed past Ray and dug into the pocket of her overcoat.

"How much does he owe you?"

"Eleven dollars and fifteen cents."

"For a bottle of Coke and a pack of cigarettes?" Deirdre shouted, incredulous.

"It's two fifty for the pop and seven fifty for the smokes. Plus tax." Deirdre frowned and gave the man a sceptical look as she pulled out a small bundle of folded bills. She peeled a ten and a five from the stack and handed it over.

"I want my change." The man smiled and scuttled back behind the counter, ringing up the purchase. He slid three dollar bills and a handful of assorted change through the small dip beneath the glass and the counter. Deirdre gave the man another annoyed look before pocketing the change and returning to where Ray and Fraser stood.

"One day, I'm going to call the cops on him." The man called out, his voice muffled by the thick ballistic glass. Deirdre dismissed him with a wave of her hand.

"Doubt it." She muttered, looking over the breakfast choices.

"Something's never change, do they?" Ray asked.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Deirdre hissed, yanking a sandwich, wrapped in foil and marked "bacon and egg" from the tray.

"Well, Connor making a mess and you having to clean it up."

"He probably didn't even mean to do it. He's had a lot on his mind lately."

"Like I said, something's never change." Deirdre scowled at Ray, her cheeks flushed with anger. She opened her mouth, as if to say something, decided against it and suddenly turned to look at Fraser.

"Who are you and why are you even here?" she asked, her tone full of ire. Fraser raised his eyebrows, part of his surprised, part of him unconsciously showing he wasn't a threat.

"I'm Constable Benton Fraser. I came here to Chicago on the trail—"

"He came here because some people killed his father." Ray interrupted. "He's still here because he's pissed off Canada and they won't allow him back in."

"Impressive." Deirdre muttered, peeling back a corner of the foil to inspect the sandwich. She wrinkled her nose, took a longer look, shrugged and wrapped it back up again. "I can only manage to piss off half of the PD's brass at any given time."

"Benny, this is Deirdre Giacopelli. She's a detective and works in Gang Investigations."

"Sullivan. It's Sullivan…again."

"Not surprised."Ray muttered.

"I'm surprised your mom didn't tell you. I know for a fact she's the first person _my _mom called when she found out. It was nothing but rapid Italian and sideeyes."

"It's nice to meet you, Detective Sullivan." Fraser said diplomatically, giving her a friendly smile. Deirdre stared back at him suspiciously.

"We need to talk about Connor." Ray continued, grabbing a sandwich for him and one for Fraser, who took the offering easy enough. A year ago, the Canadian would have politely declined with the disgust nearly evident in his eyes. The convenience of America had an effect on people, though. Not to mention, when you were hungry enough—or a cop long enough-warmed over processed meats sounded appetizing.

Ray paid for all three sandwiches, the man behind the counter wished them all a good day, the previous non-niceties forgotten it seemed, and the trio piled out the door, back out into the bitter Chicago winter.

Deirdre unwrapped a corner of her sandwich and took a healthy bite. She brushed a strand of hair away from her mouth as she chewed, looking over her surroundings. She took another bite and swallowed before attempting to talk.

"What happened at Kelly's last night?" she asked, leaning against the metal fencing surrounding the empty lot next to the store.

"Mike Flaherty and Earl McMannis are dead." Ray answered after swallowing a bite of food. He watched closely for her reaction. He knew she would know the names, and not just professionally. For over two decades, she called Flaherty 'Uncle Mike'. McMannis had been married to a cousin. Deirdre mulled over the information and took another bite, this one much smaller than its predecessors.

"Who are the other ones? You said five were involved." She said quietly, her mouth still full of food.

"Joe Ricci and Ricky Falcone. The bartender is in the hospital."

"Ricci and Falcone are Zuko's boys. They're on the wrong side of Chicago to begin with and they just happened to want to grab a drink at the most Irish of Irish bars in the city." The statement had no inflection of doubt or surprise. The words fell flat and hung in the air. She had the same questions as he. Nothing made sense, especially when you looked at the scene. She didn't know Ricci and Falcone had been at Kelly's for, what looked like, a friendly visit; one stepping out for a friendly smoke, the other enjoying drinks and music.

"Why do you want to see Connor?" Ray remained silent.

"We think he might have been there during the shooting." Fraser began after a few moments of silence. "Or at least he might know a little about what happened."

"Why?"

"The bartender mentioned him by name. If he doesn't know what happened then he may very well be in trouble." Deirdre finished off her sandwich and crumpled the foil into a tight ball in her fist.

"Connor wouldn't have been there. He's not working for him anymore."

"Dee Dee," Ray started, doubtful.

"He's not." She repeated, her tone stressed. "He hasn't cleaned a car for McDohll in a year. He hasn't been to Kelly's in at least six months." Ray finished his own sandwich and tossed the wrapper to the ground. That garnered a disapproving look from Deirdre and an exasperated sigh as she bent down to pick it up before the wind could carry it away. She twisted the foil around the tightly crunched ball in her hand and tossed it into the trash can chained to the light pole, courtesy of the City of Chicago. "So, I don't know how he can help you."

"Deirdre, we need to talk to him. I know you know where he is—"

"I don't."

"You do. And you know it's best if he brings himself in. It's not going to be pretty if we have to find him." Deirdre frowned and folded her arms tight across her chest. "Just bring him down to the station. Ten o'clock. Okay?" Deirdre ignored him and reached for the keys to the Impala—inherited from her father—and unlocked the driver's side door. She tucked her body behind the wheel and slammed the door shut as the engine roared to life. Ray watched as she threw the transmission into drive and pulled away from the curb. He laughed bitterly and shook his head

"Did the two of you work together?" Fraser asked, tossing his sandwich, cold and half eaten, into the trash.

"Nope." Ray reached for his own keys. "I was married to her."


	4. Chapter 4

"Vecchio!"

Ray cringed at the sound of his lieutenant, knowing full well Harding Welsh would not be happy with his detective disappearing for just about four hours. He had answered the radio call from Elaine at eight fifteen ordering him back to the station because Welsh had started to wonder why he had received a debrief from all of his officers except for one. The same one who, according to Gardino, had run off soon after arriving at the crime scene, on the search for the elusive Connor Sullivan.

At a quarter to nine, he assured Elaine he was just a few minutes out. At five after nine, he said they were caught in traffic—not exactly unheard of in Chicago—and they would get there when they got there. At nine thirty, he ignored her calls altogether. By the look on the seasoned lieutenant's face, that was probably the wrong thing to do.

"So nice of you to join us finally on this cold winter's day. Traffic must have been exceptionally bad seeing as how it took you four hours to drive from the Kelly's bar to here. I mean normally it's a half hour drive at the most." The sarcasm and faux concern was thick on Welsh's voice. A tone in which Ray was thoroughly versed.

"Uh, yes sir. You know how it gets when it starts to snow."

"Ah, yes. Luckily the taxpayers of the city of Chicago were paying your hourly wage so you could sit for four hours while you are supposed to be working a homicide investigation. That must have taken the sting out of it somewhat, no?"

"Uh, yes sir—I mean, no sir."

"My office." Welsh disappeared as he ducked back into his office. Ray sighed and navigated his way around the desks, past Elaine's workstation where he was greeted with a "good luck, he's not exactly in a cheerful mood" and finally reached the last door on the right which hung open in an almost inviting nature. Ray had worked at the two seven long enough to know it was a trap. He knocked twice, plastering his face with a cheerful smile.

"Get in here and close the door." The smile disappeared and the Mountie and detective did as ordered, taking place in front of Welsh's desk.

The lieutenant turned his attention to Fraser, his face twisted with puzzlement, his eyes squinting slightly and his mouth pursed in reflection. "So you really don't have anything better to do than to tag along at crime scenes?" Fraser raised his eyebrows in thought and shook his head.

"No, sir. Not today."

"Huh." He turned his head back to Ray. "You realize just whose bodies those were back at Kelly's bar this morning."

"Yes, sir."

"And do you realize something like this tends to bring a lot of attention down on whichever house gets suckered into it."

"Yes, sir."

"So you also realize something like this tends to get a little bit more attention from said house, usually in the form of additional detectives."

"Yes, sir."

"That's good. I wanted to make sure you understood the basics before I commenced in chewing your ass."

"Sir—"

"So far this morning, I received seven calls from the Commander, two from the Chief, three from the Assistant Deputy Superintendent and one from the Mayor's office." Welsh continued. "You know, normally when a detective goes out on a call, he comes back or at least calls his lieutenant to give him regular updates because those detectives know the lieutenant is sitting back in his office passing along the same information to the higher brass. Those detectives know that if they don't, the lieutenant isn't going to have any information to pass along, thus leaving his open for his own ass chewing. And we all know what happens when the lieutenant gets in trouble, don't we?"

"Uh, yes, sir."

"Good. So explain to me why you, Detective Vecchio, thought it wise to leave the crime scene and go dark for four hours."

"Well, it really was more like three and a half—"

"Detective Vecchio was following a lead, sir." Fraser interjected calmly.

"A lead."

"Yes, sir."

"What sort of lead."

"We were looking for a Connor Sullivan."

"Ah. A Connor Sullivan. In an Irish neighbourhood, no less. Must have been incredibly easy."

"Well, it was." Ray spoke up. "I believe the Connor Sullivan in question is the son of Liam Sullivan, who for nearly twenty years was Danny McDohll's right hand man."

"This Connor Sullivan the bartender was talking about and your Connor Sullivan."

"Yes, sir."

"And you knew where to find this Connor Sullivan at five in the morning, did you?"

"Well, if I knew where to find him, he'd be here."

"One would hope."

"He's actually going to be here in, oh—" Ray paused to check his watch, "—about ten minutes." For the first time that morning, Welsh's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Really."

"Yes, sir."

"Well, that certainly is news I wasn't expecting."

"Well, I like to keep you on your toes, sir."

"Mmm hmm, one question, have you made him a suspect?"

"Not yet."

"Well, as soon as you figure out what he's going to be, either way, tell me ASAP. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now get out of my office."

Ray didn't need to be told twice. He led the way through the door and back into the squad room where he caught a glimpse of Deirdre coming through the entrance. Following close behind was a man who stood a few inches taller than Deirdre and shared the same dark hair, blue eyes and sharp features. He looked tired and aggravated. Deirdre noticed Ray before he had to call out to her. She stopped a few feet from Elaine's desk and waited for the two to approach, glancing back briefly as if to see if Connor was still behind her.

"Hi, Connor." Connor pulled himself to his full height and lifted his chin, eyebrows raised slightly, a sneer pulling the left side of his lip up slightly. Ray was more than certain he received that look for reasons other than the one which brought him here today. Growing up, the two had been inseparable. The way Deirdre and Ray's marriage imploded changed all that overnight.

"C'mon." They made their way to the first unoccupied interview room. Ray pushed open the door and motioned for Connor to enter. Set to follow, Ray felt a hand on him as Deirdre pushed him back and reached over to bring the door shut.

"Is he going to need a lawyer?" she asked, dropping her hand from Ray's shoulder.

"If he thinks he needs one." Ray answered. He was rewarded with a scowl.

"I'm being serious."

"He is entitled to one." Fraser said, helpfully.

"I didn't ask you."

"Listen, he's not a suspect yet." Ray began. "If he wants one, he can get one. If not, he can stop the interview at any time, you know that." Worry darkened Deirdre's face which caused ray to instantly soften. "If you want to sit in there and act as his defacto attorney, I'm not stopping you." Deirdre bit down on the side of her lip as she mulled over her options. Finally, she nodded and opened the door, stepping through the threshold first with Ray and Fraser in tow. Connor was already seated, slouched back in the chair, his fingers tapping impatiently on the desk. Ray settled in across from him and leaned forward, resting his elbows near the edge of the table. Connor stared back at him, relaxed. But that could all be because he was familiar with the process.

Ray opened his mouth to begin.

"Look, I know why I'm here and I know what you're going to ask me." Connor interrupted, leaning forward a matching Ray's posture. "I don't know what happened at Kelly's, frankly I don't care, and I haven't been there for months. End of."

"Then explain to me how a witness puts you there last night?" Not exactly a lie, but the question was enough to make Connor blink

"You don't have to answer that, you know." Deirdre offered up quickly, shooting a look of warning Ray's way. Connor glanced up at his younger sister and then back to Ray before answering.

"I wasn't there. And I haven't been there. Last day I was there was August fifth."

"You know the exact day." Ray countered, sarcasm dripping.

"Yeah, I do. Now I don't care what your witness says. Now I came here as a courtesy to my sister. If you're not going to arrest me, I need to get going. I'm already late for work. Maybe you guys can write me a note or something." Connor snickered.

"How about you tell me where you were last night, then? It'll help discredit our witness and we won't have to bother you again. And then you can go."

"I was home. Last night. Alone. Sorry I can't give you a better alibi. Maybe you can call me up later and I can come up with something better."

"This isn't a joke, Connor." Deirdre hissed, a hand on the table as she leaned toward her brother. "Stop acting like an ass." Connor sniggered and shook his head.

"Some things never change." He muttered, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

"Can he go now? Deirdre asked after a look passed between the siblings. Ray pondered the options before him, decided he could handle Welsh's wrath but wasn't prepared for Deirdre's and nodded.

"Stay close." Ray warned as Connor stood. "I'm sure I'll have more questions later on."

The room was quiet for a few moments after Deirdre and Connor cleared . Fraser finally moved from his spot in the corner and walked over to Ray who was still seated.

"Do you think he's telling the truth?"

"I don't think any of the Sullivan's are capable of that, Fraser." Ray answered bitterly as he stood.

"Maybe it's time to see if any useable fingerprints turned up at the crime scene.

"Yeah, maybe it's time."


	5. Chapter 5

"You happy now?" Connor pushed past his sister as she closed the door to the interview room behind her. Deirdre reached out and grabbed the sleeve of his jacket. Connor shook her off and continued down the hallway, squeezing between a filing cabinet and a group of a dozen uniformed officers. Deirdre followed close behind, bumping the elbow of one of the uniforms. She continued on without an acknowledgment.

"I know you're not looking for an answer, but no. No, I'm not."

"A waste of my time." Connor muttered. Deirdre reached out, grabbed Connor's sleeve once again and this time held on when he tried to shrug her off. She forced him to stop, pulling him off to the side and out of the way of the group of uniforms they had passed just moments before. She gave the group a wary eye and stayed silent until they had reached just beyond earshot.

"Were you at Kelly's Bar last night?" she asked, trying—and failing-to force her brother to look her in the eye.

"What are you, deaf? I said no."

"And you were lying." Connor met her gaze.

"How do you know?"

"The same way Ma always knows when you're lying. Because you're terrible at it." Connor shook his head, annoyed.

"I wasn't there." He was no longer looking at her.

"Are you working for him again?"

"Deidre." He sighed as he brought his eyes back up to meet hers, expecting anger and finding dejection. Her lips were pinched to the right and faint lines appeared between her brows. But she wasn't looking at him; something or someone had caught her attention behind him. Connor turned his head and quickly focused on the trio of suits who had exited a room toward the back of the Detective Bureau. The man leading the charge glanced to his left, toward Connor and Deirdre, seemingly out of habit; the man looked as if he liked to know his surroundings. His eyes washed over them but not really seeing before he turned his head forward once more.

"Who are those guys?"

"Feds." Deirdre whispered just as the lead man came to a stop. Recognition had finally fallen and this time he turned his entire body left, his gaze focused solely on Deirdre and Connor.

"What's wrong?" Ray's voice startled the siblings, but neither showed it. Deirdre kept her eyes locked on the head agent—she had met him once before three years ago but the name was still as fresh as ever in her mind; Ford. One of the two left over agents looked familiar; she couldn't remember the name only because he hadn't had been as obnoxious as Ford during their encounter in her own stationhouse.

"Who called in the Feds?" she asked as Ford stopped a few feet from where the detectives stood.

"Detective Giacopelli."

"Agent Ford." Ford turned his head slightly.

"Detective Vecchio."

"What do you want?" Ray asked, his voice hard.

"Have you spoken to my suspect?"

"Your _what_?" Deirdre asked.

"My suspect." Ford repeated calmly, as if it was possible she might not have heard. "Connor Sullivan." Ford twisted his head so he could look Connor in the face. "You will need to come with us."

"Nah, I'm not going anywhere."

"It's not a choice." The agent Deirdre recognized but couldn't name reached for Connor. The elder Sullivan quickly reacted, planting his hands on the agent's shoulder and giving him a sharp shove as he crouched into a fighting stance. A stance each Sullivan child learned from an early age. The agent stumbled but was steadied by the third agent. Once safe on his feet, the familiar agent reached again; this time Connor reached with a swing of a balled fist. He would have connected had Deirdre not given her brother a harsh yank backward, allowing her to step in between the agents and Connor before the agents punched.

"Knock it off." She hissed, giving Connor a shove before turning her attention back to the suited men in front of her.

"Since when is this your case?" Ray asked.

"I don't have to discuss this with you, Vecchio. If you want answers, you can talk to your Lieutenant. In the meantime, Connor Sullivan will be coming with us." The familiar agent—the name Deeter popped suddenly into Deirdre's head and it sounded like it could be his name—reached for Connor, who still stood tensely behind his sister, once more. This time it was Deirdre who pushed back, a reflexive movement she almost immediately regretted. None of the agents looked amused and the last assault didn't do wonders to lighten the mood. She felt an arm drape across her shoulder and pull her back. Again, the agent—Deeter?—reached for Connor, made contact and pulled him toward the trio. Connor tensed, decided any further outbursts would be moot and relaxed. His face paralleled the look Deirdre had a few moments before.

"He wants a lawyer!" Deirdre called out as the agents escorted Connor away. Ford awarded her a glance but not much more. When they disappeared around the corner, Deirdre angrily shrugged off the arm that was still wrapped around her shoulder

Suddenly Deirdre was off, bee lining toward the door where she had seen Ford and his fellow agents exit moments before.

"Whoa." Ray hustled to catch up with her, corralling her off to the side, next to a row of filing cabinets. "You can't just go barging into Welsh's office."

"You got a better idea?"

"No." With a disapproving look, Deirdre attempted to squeeze between Ray and the cabinets, with no success. "Fine, we'll go in, but I go in first." Deirdre shrugged.

"Fine." Ray led the way to his Lieutenant's office. He knocked twice on the door frame, and garnered a gruff "what" in return.

Welsh glanced up as Ray entered, Deirdre and Fraser close behind. He dropped the pen he had been using onto his desk from one hand and plucked the reading glasses from his face with the other.

"Are you just collecting them now?" Welsh leaned forward, his elbow propped on his desk, his hand held out, palm up, gesturing between Fraser and Deirdre as he spoke. "First the Mountie and then…who might you be?"

"I'm Deirdre Sullivan. I work out of the Gang investigations Unit out of the two one." She answered quickly. She didn't know the Lieutenant before her, but he didn't look like someone who appreciated a long story or too many beats of silence after a question had been asked.

"Gang Investigations, huh?"

"Yes, sir."

"Bobby Washington leads that."

"Yes, sir."

"I went to the academy with Bobby Washington."

"He's a good man, sir."

"Does he know you're here?"

"Uh," Deirdre stole a glance Ray's way before shifting her eyes to the floor. "no, sir."

"Ah." Welsh leaned back, the chair creaking beneath the shifting weight. "Would you happen to be related to Connor Sullivan?" He laid his hands across his stomach, his fingers steepled.

"Yes, sir. Connor is my brother."

"Mmm. And that's why you're here."

"Yes, sir."

"Detective Sullivan brought Connor Sullivan here as per Detective Vecchio's request." Fraser piped up, taking a step toward Welsh. He could now see both Ray and Deirdre from his new position. They both stared back at him with identical looks of displeasure. He wanted to continue, but the sudden shift in the room warned him it wouldn't be the best idea he ever had, so he fell back into silence.

"I see. You're not scheduled to work today, are you, Detective?" Welsh asked, focused again on Deirdre.

"No, sir, I have the day off."

"Ah, that's good. Lieutenant Washington isn't the kindest when his detectives disappear without warning, is he?" He was pointedly looking at Ray now.

"Traffic was bad." Ray muttered, visibly shirking under the gaze.

"Traffic was bad." Deirdre echoed, aware the senior man was upset with Ray, for reasons she didn't know. Not that it mattered anyway. "It took me twice as long to get here after picking up Connor. You know how it gets when it begins to snow."

"So I've been told. I would ask the Mountie just how bad traffic was, but I would hate to embarrass the both of you, so I won't." Deirdre and Ray exchanged glances. "Let's move on. I have a very good feeling why you're here in my office. Yes, the Feds have control of your case; no, I didn't call them in; no, I have no idea who did; and no, I didn't know they were coming until they walked so rudely in here."

"Did they say why they were taking over?" Fraser asked.

"There's a leak in the Chicago PD when it comes to Danny McDohll. They don't know where it is; they have an idea, but to be on the safe side, anything involving Danny McDohll or his boys automatically gets transferred to the FBI. The order comes from way above my head, lady and gentlemen. I don't like it, but it is what it is."

"Did they say where they thought the leak was coming from?" Deirdre asked.

"I don't rate that sort of information, Detective. So, forget about it, you" he pointed at Deirdre with an index finger, "keep an eye on your brother and you," he shifted the target to Ray, "maybe you can take one of the many open cases sitting on your desk and solve one of them for me so I can bring good news to the quarterly meetings for once." Welsh tapped his hands on his desk, a sign their conversation was over. Ray sighed, disconsolate but he knew when to argue and when it was smart to keep his mouth shut. Now was a time to stay quiet, in fact the sigh might have been too much had Welsh been just a titch angrier.

At once Ray was burning to know more, to go back to Kelly's with a new eye, not because he thought Connor was innocent, maybe innocent of murder but not he was certainly lying about being there last night. But because someone else now had control of something that was previously his and he didn't like it.

He paused by his desk. He could feel the weight of the stares upon him. Fraser and Deirdre, good and evil. They stood side by side, Fraser looking upon him inquisitively; Deirdre hungrily, with a soft half smile upon her lips. It was as if both could read his mind. In a small way he wondered if they could each do just that.

"I just need to stick around long enough to make it appear I'm not just completely disobeying Welsh. He's got me on a short enough leash as it is." The half-smile widened to show a row of teeth. One front tooth overlapped the other and further back an incisor was sharper than the other.

"Ok, I'm going to ride on down to The Loop and make sure Connor has his lawyer and then I'll meet you at Kelly's."

"I'll call you." Deirdre turned her back and bounded away, her strides longer than normal. Ray watched her as she weaved her way through the office, the door to the bureau opening as she approached. Gardino and Huey appeared from the other side.

"I feel as though I should tell you this isn't the wisest move."

"Of course you do, Benny. You always do." Deirdre stood in the doorway with Huey and Gardino. The three were obviously familiar with one another. When she turned her head to talk to Huey, Ray noticed with much vexation Gardino leaned his head back to get a look at Deirdre's backside.

"I don't suppose there's anything I can say that will make a difference?"

"No, Benny, there isn't." Ray watched as Huey stepped in through the doorway after saying his goodbyes to Deirdre. Gardino continued to hold the door until Deirdre had completely stepped through before allowing it to swing shut with both he and Deirdre on the other side. Ray's jaw tightened.

"Well, alright then."

"That's it?" Ray asked, pulling his gaze away from the door for the first time since the beginning of their conversation.

"That's it."

"Well, that's good because I really didn't feel like hearing you argue."

Ray leaned to the side and pulled open the bottom right hand drawer of his desk. The bearings wheeled silently as the drawer extended, ending with a sharp thud once the governor had been reached. He grabbed the first file within range and tossed it onto his desk where it landed with a flat whump.


	6. Chapter 6

"We probably should have seen this coming."

Deirdre slid into the passenger seat of the Riviera—Ray had made it a point to order Fraser into the backseat before they had even left the stationhouse—pulling the tail of her coat into the car before slamming the door shut. Diefenbaker stuck a curious nose forward which caused her to pull away, her back pressed against the doorframe.

"What is that?"

"This is Diefenbaker. He's very friendly…for a wolf." Fraser pulled Diefenbaker gently back toward him.

"You have a wolf?" Deirdre asked, her gaze fixed solely on Fraser.

"Yes."

"In Chicago?"

"Yes."

"Seriously?" Deirdre asked, now fixed on Ray. Ray only managed a shrug.

After tossing a wary look over her shoulder, Deirdre leaned back in the seat. Ray had parked two blocks north of Kelly's; close enough to observe what was going on at the crime scene but far enough away to keep suspicion from bubbling within one of the four federal agents now in control of the bar.

"Usually they don't mind us doing all the work for them." Ray muttered as the last Chicago police officer was relieved by the suits. One uniform leaned toward another and shared a joke, at the feds expense according to the laugh and look over their shoulder. They climbed into a marked unit and drove off, still laughing as they drove past the Riviera.

"Well, Ray, if the FBI thinks there is an officer working for McDohll it would make sense to re-evaluate the crime scene. Especially since it's a very real possibility the officer in question would show up at the crime scene."

"If there's even a cop on McDohll's payroll." Deirdre shot back, turning sharply in her seat.

"Of course." Deirdre straightened in her seat.

"Drive around the corner."

"What?"

"Drive around the corner."

"Why?" Deirdre rolled her eyes but held back the sigh.

"You didn't find any witnesses, but I bet I have someone I can talk to. So, drive around the corner." Ray didn't hold back his sigh but complied, driving passed Kelly's without so much as a glance from the agents. He found a spot halfway down the block and put the Riviera to rest. Deirdre was the first from the car. She waited as Fraser followed his wolf out of the backseat and Ray double checked each lock. In this neighbourhood, leaving the Riv unlocked would almost guarantee the Riv would not be there when they got back.

Deirdre led the way, down the alley between the houses bordering South Wallace and South Lowe. A dog barked at them from a detached garage. Two houses later, Deirdre stopped to admire the pool in a backyard. Four more houses and Deirdre stopped. She turned to Fraser, glanced down at Diefenbaker and back up at the Mountie.

"It's probably best you wait out here." She didn't wait for an answer, instead reached over the shoulder high wood fence bordering the property, undid the latch and pushed the gate open just enough to allow a person to slip through. "Don't talk to anyone." She ordered Fraser before following Ray through the gate.

She led Ray through a backyard that had been dealt with but not particularly cared for. Across the street, Ray could see the yellow caution tape roped around the front of Kelly's bar.

Deirdre knocked on the back screen door. When it went unanswered, she tried again.

"I'm pretty sure Gardino and Huey talked to whoever lives here." Ray said, unimpressed.

"I'm sure they did." She knocked again. This time the heavy back door opened.

"Deirdre!" The voice on the other side of the screen belonged to a woman well north of 60, her head full of white curls. She pushed open the screen door. "What on earth are you doing here, child? Come in, come in." She grabbed Deirdre's hand, already pulling her inside before she spoke. When she noticed Ray she paused, pulling Deirdre close as if to protect her. Suspicion clouded her face, a drastic change from the sunny disposition she showed Deirdre just seconds earlier.

"It's okay, Mrs Duffy." Deirdre soothed, obvious to the shift in the air. "This is Ray Vecchio. You remember." She prodded when the icy façade didn't melt. "Ray…my husband, Ray." Eyebrows widened and a smile pushed at the wrinkles around her lips.

"The cop."

"Well, I'm—yeah, the cop."

"I suppose you can come in, too." The elderly woman stepped aside to allow Ray to enter. The back door led directly into the small but well-kept kitchen. "I had the cops at my door this morning already."

"I know." A pot was boiling on the stove. Deirdre took a peek inside. She fought to keep herself from wrinkling her nose at the sharp smell of fish.

"Smoked Haddock soup." Kathy announced proudly, suddenly at Deirdre's side. The woman was old, but still moved with the grace of a cat. "My oldest will be by for lunch in about an hour." She stole a glance at Ray and leaned in close as if to tell her a secret. "You should stick around. He's a nice Irish boy. A type of man you _should_ marry." Deirdre chuckled.

"Ray and I aren't married anymore, Mrs Duffy. You don't need to whisper."

"Good." Kathy Duffy straightened. "Your father never liked him anyway."

"My father never liked anybody."

"Not true. He loved Paul." Deirdre, visibly uncomfortable, quickly changed the subject.

"Did you say anything to the cops this morning?" The elderly woman huffed as if she was offended by the question.

"Of course not."

"You do know what happened across the street?" Ray asked. This time, Kathy Duffy was actually offended.

"Of course I do. I'm old but not dead." Deirdre smiled. Ray frowned.

"Did you see anything last night?"

"What do you want to know, dear?" Deirdre hesitated. She shared a look with Ray for a few beats before turning back to the elderly woman.

"Was Connor there last night?" Mrs Duffy nodded.

"I hadn't seen him for a while. He came over to say hello when he saw me sitting on the porch. He looks so much like your father. Almost a spitting image. The both of you do. It's almost like you got nothing from your mother." Ray studied Deirdre as Kathy Duffy spoke. Her face was a blank slate but her posture had changed. Her back curved as she slouched, her left arm crossed over her stomach and gripped her right elbow tightly.

"Did you see what time he left?" Deirdre was answered with a shake of the head.

"I went to sleep after the news. The gunshots woke me up a little after four." Another shake of the head. "I knew there was going to be problems when I saw those Italians." She pronounced Italians "Eye-talians" and stole a glance, mixed with suspicion and shame, at Ray.

"Did you see who was doing the shooting?"

"Child, I don't make it a habit to run to the window when shots are fired." Kathy answered matter-of-factly. "I slid out of bed and laid down on the floor until the shooting stopped. After it quieted down, I went downstairs to use the washroom. I noticed a car leaving the bar when I walked past the window at the top of my staircase."

"Did you get a plate or anything?"

"No. But…" she paused, unsure if she should continue. She grabbed Deirdre by the elbow and pulled her out of the kitchen and into the front room. "The car I saw was Connor's."

Deirdre felt her stomach drop. "You sure?"

"Maybe not one hundred percent, but it looked exactly like that piece he's been driving. Sounded like it, too." Deirdre bit her bottom lip.

"Ok. Thanks."

"I don't have to worry about him, do I?" Kathy asked, referring to Ray.

"No. I wouldn't have brought him here if you did. Listen, I have to go. Thank you for helping me out."

"Don't be too upset at Connor." The elderly woman squeezed Deirdre's arm reassuringly. "And I'm going to set you up with my Doug. You come by this weekend for dinner with us, how does that sound." Deirdre offered a dry smile.

"I'll check my calendar. Are you going to be okay here?" Kathy Duffy waved off her concern with a stiff hand.

"Please. Those fools only kill each other."

"Who was that?" Ray allowed the screen door to slam shut behind him as he hustled to keep up with Deirdre. Deirdre stopped in the middle of the yard and offered a wave to Mrs Duffy as the back door closed.

"Kathy Duffy. She was married to Timothy Duffy." The name rang a bell. Timothy Duffy had worked for the McDohll Family when it was known as the Buckley Family. Timothy Duffy had gone missing twenty years ago. "She knows everything that goes on across the street but she won't talk to the cops. She doesn't like them."

"But she talks to you."

"I think she forgets I'm a cop. Plus she had a soft spot for my dad." Deirdre's tone suddenly became bitter. "Supposedly he looked after her after her husband went missing. So she tells me things. In turn, I keep her name out of things so we weren't here today. Do you think your Boy Scout can handle that?" Ray didn't answer because he truly did not know.

"So what did she say?" Ray asked, eager to change the subject. Deirdre hesitated. She took a glance around the yard as if they weren't alone and someone might overhear them.

"That Connor was there last night and it might have been his car she saw leaving right after the shooting but she can't be sure."

"If it was Connor he wasn't alone. There were three different shell casings there."

"It wasn't Connor." Deirdre shot back. "He may be a thief, he may clean cars for McDohll and he may lie about his drinking habits, but he's not a killer. No matter how much he dislikes any of Frank Zuko's boys. And why would he kill two of our own. In case you forgot, he liked Mike Flaherty and Earl McMannus just as well as I did, maybe even more so. It was Mike who got him the job at the garage."

Ray noticed she had used the phrase "our own". He chose not to say anything.

"He was there last night and he may know something." Ray countered. "And we need to check out his car if the feds don't have it already." Deirdre stood before him, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, eye narrowed, knees locked. She looked every bit defiant and annoyed. "You know I'm right so you can sit there looking like that all day if you want but the longer you pout, the less chance we get a hold of that car before our friend Agent Ford does." Her demeanour cracked. Her arms fell to her sides and she chewed on the side of her lip nervously. He wished he could hear what she was thinking and then decided it was probably best he didn't know. There had been plenty of times he had wondered what thoughts floated through her head and at one point would have given his right arm to know. Then one day he found out and instantly regretted it. Two weeks later he had a lawyer sent off the divorce papers in the mail.

"Fine." Deirdre finally said. "Let's go find his car."


End file.
